


You Don't Fight Fair

by annamorris



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/F, Mild Blood, Nicole vs Death: a case study, Nicole-centric, Sassy Child Nicole, Spoilers for Season 4A, alternate title "Nicole Haught: A Real Tough Cookie", but nothing graphic, how is she still intact, stop putting Nicole in the hospital 2k20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annamorris/pseuds/annamorris
Summary: Three times Nicole escaped death, one time it caught up to her, and one time she welcomed it.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	You Don't Fight Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely folks who managed to overpower my overly critical brain and convince me to post this.

one. the first escape.

Heart racing, a girl no older than six stumbled through a dense forest. A frigid wind whipped fiercely across rosy cheeks. The undergrowth churned, and the tree roots seemed to shift, rising up as if to trip her. Somewhere, a pink tennis shoe lay abandoned, entangled in a swath of vines that had not been there moments before. Angry red marks circled pale wrists where the greenery tried to restrain her. 

She dodged a tree in her path and kept running. The smell of sulfur and smoke were stifling, filling her nose and making her cough. She thought she heard a river up ahead. She wished she knew for sure. 

Nicole yelped as she fell, landing clumsily on her hands and knees, which twinged on impact. She scrambled to her feet, casting fearful backward glances when she could spare them as she navigated the ever-changing terrain. Hair that came undone from her braid tickled her nose, and she swept it behind her ear. 

A few meters in front of her, Nicole spotted a break in the trees. Beyond it, she saw the distinct shimmer of running water and sent up a silent thanks to the beings her ma and pa always talked about. Fire could not follow her there. 

She did not bother removing her remaining shoe, the blood thundering in her ears drowning out any thought beyond, _run_. The water was colder than she could have imagined, and it soaked through her jeans in a second, chilling her right to her core. A hush blanketed her world. For an instant, Nicole sank, suspended beneath the current in a moment of calm, holding her breath and closing her eyes. 

She splashed to the surface with a gasp, treading her legs to stay afloat. The night seemed darker than ever. The stars she had stared at with such adoration had vanished, though the sky remained cloudless. A furious roar sounded from the treeline, but when Nicole checked, there was nothing but shadow, an inky, pulsing thing that seemed to storm and clash where the soil met the stony riverbank. 

Floating on her back, Nicole’s breath came in short bursts as the current carried her downstream. She shivered as the ripples lapped her hairline, occasionally splashing into her eyes, and she was suddenly grateful for the long days she spent entertaining herself in lakes and streams, while her parents were off doing whatever it was that parents did. She sure didn’t know, and she couldn’t say she cared to find out.

Her toes began to numb, and Nicole knew she needed to seek a dry place to wait for dawn. Things always seemed less scary in the daytime. Ahead, nestled in a sandy patch of bushes, an overturned canoe had been pushed ashore, the back half protruding into the water. If she could just make it that far, she might be able to squeeze under it and hide beneath the arch of the boat’s upturned bottom.

Flipping onto her stomach, she took a deep breath and dove under, lacerating her belly on coarse sand as she shimmied through the crack between the boat and the ground. The cuts on her hands and knees burned as rock particles irritated the open wounds. Nicole’s arms shook as she shuffled up the riverbed until her back pressed against the canoe's far end. She wrung out her clothes as best she could and brought her knees to her chest. 

She felt so very alone, curled up in the hull of a stranger’s boat, her aunt and uncle left far behind. Nicole absentmindedly picked at a new scab on her leg. A drop of blood welled in the cut.

She had wandered back from one of the portable toilets, set apart from the festival grounds, to the spot she had last seen them, but they were nowhere to be found. She had skipped to the top of the ridge that separated the toilets from the performance space, coming to a violent stop at the peak. 

Before her, laid out like a gruesome tableau, tendrils of shadow wove between dozens of corpses, each meticulously arranged. A humanoid shape seemed to form from nothing, but Nicole had blinked, and it was gone. 

She stilled, having no desire to become a target. Nicole pivoted to retreat, sending a small avalanche of loose pebbles tumbling. The world froze around her as the fog took notice of the terrified little girl on the hilltop for the first time. A man in black leather solidified a hundred meters away. He almost seemed impressed by her tenacity, though the energy quickly changed to outrage when Nicole took off in a dead sprint back to the cover of the forest, a furious roaring at her heels.

Now, crouching beneath the canoe’s metal underside, Nicole flinched each time a stray gust rattled overhead, echoing loudly as if she were inside a drum. She trembled as the water dried on her skin, making each little hair stand up on her forearms. Gentle waves crept up the shore a foot away from her toes, and Nicole maneuvered a little further up on the damp sand. She jumped as a low-hanging branch scraped the outside of her makeshift roof. 

As the rush of adrenaline slowly wore off, Nicole’s shoulders drooped. She hesitated for a moment, while a massive yawn escaped her. Against her better judgment, she caved to the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. She succumbed to a fitful sleep, jolting awake at every sound, until birdsong roused her an indeterminable amount of time later to shouting and a terrible crick in her neck. 

“Over here!” a man’s voice bellowed. Footsteps tramped through the undergrowth until Nicole could see the ground around her hiding place squish around black leather boots. She tensed, prepared to fight for her life on shaking feet. A vision of the man in black standing proud over the carnage breathed down her neck. Calloused fingertips wrapped around the rim of the boat, sending a spike of fear through her. 

“Shi-” the man cut off with a groan as Nicole donkey-kicked his shins. She scrambled backward, trying to gain purchase on the slippery riverbank with shaky legs. To her dismay, she fell sideways with a splash, and her arm stung as she landed in the shallows. 

“Hey, hey, kid! I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a policeman,” the man explained, massaging his bruised legs. Nicole watched him, wide-eyed, her chest heaving with every breath. 

“How long have you been out here?” he asked warily, taking her in. With bloodied hands and ragged clothing that clung to her skin, Nicole was sure she must have been a sorry sight. Not much of a threat to a fully grown man. Arms crossed protectively over her chest, she clutched the sleeves of her t-shirt with white knuckles.

“Were you at the festival?” He tried again. 

Nicole nodded timidly. 

The man exhaled heavily. He offered a gentle smile. “Well, at least I know you can understand me.” The radio on his hip crackled to life. 

_”Randy, what’s your status?”_

The man, Randy, examined Nicole and brought the walkie to his mouth. “I found a kid down by the river. Looks like she’s been out here all night. Bring me a blanket, would ya? Her lips are turnin’ blue.” He rattled off his approximate location.

_“Ten-four, Randy.”_

Randy holstered his radio. “You want to tell me your name?”

“Nicole.”

“Nice to meet you, Nicole,” he held out his hand for her to take. “I’m-”

“You’re Randy,” Nicole interrupted. She could hear just fine.

“I sure am, kid,” he snorted, a lopsided grin putting Nicole a bit more at ease. “Most folks call me Nedley, though. I work at the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department.” 

Nicole hesitantly allowed Nedley to pull her to her feet and awkwardly drape his PSD windbreaker around her boney shoulders. She stood a distance away from him, grateful to no longer be alone, but still reluctant to trust a stranger in the woods. Her parents always said to never trust the law. Something about big government and a whole lot of words Nicole didn’t understand. 

“How’d you lift up that boat all by yourself?” Nedley asked, his mustache twitching. He shifted his weight to the other leg. 

“I didn’t,” Nicole said quietly. Nedley raised an eyebrow. “I swam under it.” There was a note of pride in her tone.

“You were in the water?” Nedley said to himself. “Suppose that explains how you got so far from the scene.” 

Nicole glanced at the treeline. “It chased me to the river.”

“What chased you?”

Nicole’s eyes grew glassy, and she took a sudden interest in her remaining shoe. Her memories were blurry and tear-streaked, and she was reluctant to uncover them, lest they never go away. The policeman knelt, his khaki-clad knee sinking into the soft earth.

“Nicole,” Nedley spoke, not unkindly, “it’s very important that you tell me if you saw anything, okay, kiddo? We need to know what happened last night.”

“I didn’t do it,” Nicole whispered, closing her eyes tight against the flashes of red and black. She pressed her palms to her forehead.

“You didn’t do wh--oh. Oh. You saw… I thought you might’ve left before anything showed up.” He ran a hand through wispy hair. “Jesus, kid.”

“Randy?” 

“Over here, Ward!” Nedley shouted. Another man in the police department's standard navy uniform emerged from the woods with a steel grey blanket over his arm. 

“This the kid?”

“Sure is, Sheriff.” 

“She give you anything?” 

Nicole eyed the tall man. He wore a wide-brimmed hat that reminded Nicole of the cowboy from the _Looney Tunes_ cartoons she sometimes watched on Saturday mornings at her grandparents’ house. She didn’t like the way he spoke as if she wasn’t standing right there. 

Nedley turned to the little girl with the extra-large PSD jacket hanging to her knees. “Nicole,” he said gently, “this is Sheriff Earp. You think you could tell him what you saw?” 

“Um,” Nicole started quietly, “it was dark.” 

“It was night.” 

“Ward,” Nedley said warningly. “Go on, Nicole,” he encouraged, taking the sheriff’s blanket and wrapping it around her. 

“I, um, was coming back from the toilet, and I was trying to find my aunt and uncle? They took me to listen to the music,” she explained. Nedley nodded, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes showing. “But then…” She scrunched her eyebrows in concentration. “It was angry. And it chased me to the river, and it was so cold.” She shivered retroactively. She did not want to remember anything more.

“What chased you?” Ward said stiffly.

“The shadow,” she elaborated, tugging the blanket a little tighter around herself. 

The sheriff muttered something under his breath. 

Sensing Nicole was finished, at least for the time being, Nedley stood. “How ‘bout we take you back to the station and get ya all cleaned up and find ya some dry clothes?” To Ward, he said, “She looks about Wynonna’s size, wouldn’t ya say? Might be a little short in the leg, though.” He seemed to realize, then, that she only wore one shoe. He frowned.

“The trees stole it,” Nicole supplied helpfully, following his line of sight. 

Nedley coughed. “Right. ‘Course. Don’t suppose we can have you walking around barefoot.” He paused as if an idea struck him. “I’ve got a daughter, you know. Few years younger than you, but she loves when I put her up on my shoulders. You want to hop on, and I’ll give you a piggyback ride to the car?”

Nicole smiled for the first time that day. Nedley crouched down and grunted as Nicole leaped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck as he rose and hoisted her up, grunting under the weight. Lulled by the rhythmic swaying and the warmth of the officer’s back beneath her cheek, Nicole fell into a doze, while Nedley huffed with exertion. 

She woke up briefly as he slid her into the cruiser’s passenger seat and clicked the buckle. Her feet dangled inches above the floor. She never got to ride in the front at home.

“Now, don’t go telling the sheriff on me for putting ya up here with no car seat,” Nedley said, turning the key in the ignition. “Figured ya shouldn’t have to sit in the back like a criminal after the night you’ve had.”

“Criminal?” said Nicole, feeling the new word on her tongue.

“Bad guy,” Nedley clarified. 

“Oh.” Nicole said thoughtfully. “I’m not a criminal?”

Nedley regarded the scraped, skinny kid sitting shotgun. “No, kid. You’re a survivor.”

+++  
two. the second escape.

Old snow felt a lot like broken glass when one was dragged across it by her ankle, and Nicole couldn’t say she was a fan. A mixture of mud and slush thoroughly soaked every inch of her now-ruined uniform. Her once-pristine button-up was long gone, lost somewhere in the brush, and her undershirt sported a nasty tear across the back where it had snagged on a rock. The standard khaki pants bore ragged holes that matched the claw marks on Nicole’s calves and the vicious, knife-like fingernails that dug into her ankle.

The bump of a tree root sent a fresh ache splitting through her skull, her neck jerking sideways, as she struggled to stay awake. She could not be sure, but she suspected zero out of ten health practitioners would recommend being thrown into a tree and knocked unconscious. Negative one would recommend being towed over the forest floor after suffering what Nicole could only assume was a concussion. 

Her palm stung where she had intercepted the swing of a concealed dagger. She recalled the bloody handprints she left on the door of her cruiser, trying to hold on. 

The braid she kept tucked neatly against the back of her head had come partially undone in the struggle, and ginger hair hung loosely, picking up gunk and dead leaves as it trailed lifelessly behind her. 

Every stick and protrusion across the half-frozen ground seemed to hit home, aggravating Nicole’s already tender injuries. The gelid temperatures numbed her to an extent, but she still bit back a whimper as jagged stone carved a gash on her bare arm and a stray dip in the ground jostled ribs that she prayed were not broken. Leafless branches scratched across her skin, but she barely registered the papercut incisions.

Nicole’s leg throbbed as her abductor dropped it in the snow. He trudged up the side of the ditch, tailcoat flapping behind him until he reached the road, where Wynonna was hunched forward in the passenger seat of Nicole’s cruiser. Her mess of curls hung like a curtain around her head. Nicole longed to call out to her, to warn her, but her voice died in her throat.

As Nicole lay helpless, in the distance, the man’s horrifying, blood-stained fingernails seemed to take on the hue of molten glass. He slashed through Wynonna’s seatbelt, pulling her out of the car by her collar. She tumbled to a stop on her back mere feet from Nicole. 

“Wynonna,” she wheezed, gingerly extending her arm. The brunette remained immobile, her breathing shallow. A hiss of frustration redirected Nicole’s attention to the man who advanced down the slope. He hoisted Wynonna over his shoulder with a strength a human should not possess. Nicole did not have time to process that right now.

“No, please” she protested feebly. “Take me instead.” 

He swiveled, and Nicole swore she saw his eyes glow red. A trick of the light, perhaps. Or the concussion she was sure she had. 

“You’re the wrong kind,” he snarled, his voice several octaves lower than Nicole anticipated. She gripped the hem of his pants weakly. He shook her off easily and landed a swift kick to her abdomen that left Nicole gasping, sputtering for breath as spots danced behind her eyes. When her vision finally cleared, Wynonna and her captor had vanished into the woods.

Nicole’s stomach plummeted, and a lump settled heavily in her throat. She shivered, suddenly very aware of her lack of clothing. The khakis she loathed stiffened as the water that saturated the threads froze in the sub-zero temperatures. The hair on her arms rose, and her cuts smarted fiercely. 

Gravel crunched steadily under the wheels of the cruiser, which rolled unoccupied down the road and away from Nicole’s prone form, her chance at radioing for assistance along with it. Eerie jazz echoed in the silence of the Purgatory winter, growing ever fainter, the rustling of barren branches taking its place. 

The thin, cotton undershirt did nothing to retain warmth, and Nicole shuddered, her breath coming in short bursts that sent puffs of steam into the air. Her mind wandered.

She recalled playing in the snow when she was little, pretending to be a dragon breathing smoke and flame. What Nicole would not give to be a dragon now. The fire in her belly would warm her, and she would fly up, up into the steely cloud cover on copper wings. She would land at the homestead, and Waverly would emerge to stroke her scaly nose and with a shy giggle. Waverly must like dragons, Nicole mused, intelligent, tenacious, and elegant. Just as she was.

Oh, God. Waverly. She would be expecting Wynonna home. Except, Wynonna was gone, and it was Nicole’s fault. She failed. She was sworn to protect and serve. 

But she failed. 

She failed Wynonna. She failed Waverly. She failed herself. 

If she hadn't stopped the car, she and Wynonna would have eaten a pancake breakfast at the diner, and, perhaps, Wynonna would have sated Nicole’s endless curiosity about their peculiar little town. Nicole’s gut twisted. 

Waverly might have given her answers, too, but that hope withered the moment Nicole allowed the strange man in the dark tailcoat to abscond with Wynonna, the only family Waverly had left. The swell of anguish at the reminder chilled Nicole to her core and did little to preserve the meager body heat that remained. 

How long had it been since they left the homestead? An hour? Two? Surely long enough for breakfast to have come and gone. How long until Waverly noticed her sister’s absence? How long until someone noticed Nicole’s?

She lived alone, save for Calamity Jane, and she had contacted dispatch as she pulled out of the homestead, letting the station know she was out of service. Coming off the night shift, no one would expect her at work, and her next shift was two days away. Apart from the Earps, she had no friends. No one would be checking her whereabouts. 

_I’ll be dead by then,_ she thought morbidly, but she dared not venture further down that road, lest she gave up hope entirely. 

“Someone will notice,” she said to no one, “they have to.” The words came out far more uncertain than Nicole would ever admit. She watched her words evaporate into nothingness. Her breathing slowed. Was the sun setting? No, the sun just rose. The edges of Nicole’s vision darkened, shadows creeping in gradually. Eyes drifting closed, Nicole allowed the cold to seep into her lungs through every pore until she no longer felt the difference between cold earth and dirty flesh. Her stomach growled.

She needed to get home to feed Calamity. The cat’s weight settled heavily on her chest. Nicole smiled, dismissing the blood that beaded at the reopened split in her lip. Calamity purred like a motor, the vibrations growing louder by the second. Nicole hummed. The television sounded tinny, panicked calls far away. She must have left it on. There was a light touch at her pulse point, and her hair was swept away from her face. 

“Just a minute, CJ,” she mumbled, limbs leaden. 

“Here!” someone shouted. The world faded to black.

Next she knew, she was warm. Sweat resided between her toes, almost uncomfortably hot. She wiggled them experimentally, and they encountered unfamiliar fabric. Socks, Nicole thought.

_Not mine, though._

She cracked an eye with a grimace, met with white walls and woefully bright lights. Thin sheets tucked tightly beneath the mattress restricted her movement, and she began to struggle against the confinement, grunting with the effort. 

At the noise, a passing nurse popped her head in, alarm written across her features.

“Miss Haught,” said the woman, rushing to Nicole and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “Miss Haught, you’re safe. You’re at Purgatory General in intensive care. Please relax.” She spoke patiently. Nicole’s muscles went slack, and she fell back against the pillow. The nurse pressed a button on the side of the bed. Moments later, another nurse arrived, a doctor close behind. 

One woman busied herself checking Nicole’s vitals, while the doctor reviewed her chart. Quiet humming filled the room as the bed adjusted into an upright position. 

“Can you rate your pain on a scale from one to ten?”

Nicole took stock of her battered body. Everything hurt in some way or another. Gingerly, she touched her forehead and winced as she brushed against the butterfly-bandaged cut. The first traces of blood tinted her wrapped wrist, and every inhale sent a stab of agony through her chest. 

“Um, three and a half?” Nicole lied, the notion of anything, even alleviatives, slowing her system giving her pause. She was loath to admit this aloud, though, and steeled herself against the pain. 

The doctor gave her a skeptical look but nodded begrudgingly. “Good. That’s good.” She rattled off the list of the injuries Nicole sustained, including her suspected concussion. “Do not attempt to get out of bed without assistance.” She adjusted her stethoscope around her lab coat’s collar and said seriously, “You’re incredibly lucky to be alive right now.” She hesitated, “EMTs had to resuscitate on site.” 

Nicole blinked. Sitting in a hospital bed surrounded by the low buzz of machinery, she felt very small. Wheels clunked methodically in the hallway. She became hyperaware of her own heartbeat, thumping steadily beneath her breast, and the passage of dry air through her nose. Strange, she thought, the things one took no notice of until one goes without them. 

Nedley appeared at the threshold, badge in hand. “Haught,” he greeted cautiously, waving off the nurse that moved to block him. Nicole’s eyes flicked away from her window. “Christ, Nicole, I ain’t been that scared since Chrissy has us watchin’ _The Exorcist_ for father-daughter movie night,” he reprimanded, but his face shone with concern. Nicole stared vacantly, nothing feeling quite real. “Haught?”

The doctor uttered something to the sheriff and made her exit, the nurses following soon after.

“Haught?” he repeated. 

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, sheriff?”

He contemplated, gaze sweeping Nicole. He settled at the foot of her bed with a huff and placed a hand on her knee. “You’re gonna be okay, alright?” he said at last. “I’m givin’ you three weeks paid leave, and you’re gonna spend them resting up.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t lose my best officer, you hear?” 

Nicole protested. “Sir, I-” 

“This town will be just fine without you.” 

She failed. Of course Nedley would want her off the force.

“Sir, I need to get out there,” she tried again. 

“Absolutely not-”

“I have to find Wynonna,” Nicole burst out, voice cracking. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault she’s gone.”

“We’ve got all available officers out searching, and those Black Badge government lackeys are with them.” He patted her leg. “No one blames you, Nicole,” he said sincerely. 

“If I hadn’t stopped the car-”

He sighed. “Nicole, you died.” Nicole’s eyes snapped to his at the blunt statement. “I know ‘cause I was there. You were so dirty we almost missed you.”

Nicole studied his expression. It was earnest and a little uneasy, and Nicole felt the pull of something stronger than workplace respect. She was quiet for a moment. 

“How did...how did you find me?”

Nedley chuckled dryly. “That cowboy rode up to the station on horseback and said he’d seen your vehicle rolling down the road with no one holding the reins. Went out lookin’ immediately. Found you freezing cold, unconscious in a ditch by the side of the road.” He shrugged.

“Thank you,” Nicole whispered, “for saving me.”

The sheriff smiled affectionately. He stood and walked to the door, leaning on the jamb as he spoke over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Nicole.” 

+++  
three. the third escape.

Guilt kept Nicole awake until Calamity Jane stalked into her bedroom, tail held high, demanding breakfast. Rubbing tired eyes, Nicole coerced her unwilling feet downstairs and managed to arrive at her kitchen in one piece, despite the ginger menace weaving between her ankles. She scooped dry and wet food into a ceramic dish and set it on the floor on the way back up the stairs. 

Her phone rested face down on her nightstand, where she left it the night previous. Her heart gave a pang as Waverly’s text replayed through her mind for the umpteenth time. 

_Have a nice life hurting the people that you love._

The words were a punch to the gut. Tears had welled in Nicole’s eyes, reflecting the dim blue light of the screen. Waverly was right, and that was the worst part. Nicole knew full well she hurt Waverly, and it rent a hole in her chest. Each message sent to her girlfriend stretched a band-aid over a bullet wound, but they did nothing to stop the pain. Waverly’s response ripped them off with no warning. Nicole almost wished the sting was real. At least the physical pain would match the mental.

Standing in front of her mirror in the cool morning light, she took in her disheveled appearance. Her cheeks were flushed. Her nose felt sore and raw, where abrasive tissues had made contact. Red hair stuck up in odd directions, sweat acting as a styling agent. An old Pat Benatar t-shirt hung loosely over flannel pajama shorts.

She looked pitiful. 

“Get it together, Haught,” she breathed, “it’s still a Saturday. You still have errands to run.” It figures she would have the day off the one time she _wanted_ to lose herself in a stack of paperwork. Creating a plan of attack helped, though, and she ran through it as she undressed with a sigh, stepping into the shower. She cranked the water until it was almost unbearably hot and allowed the evidence of a restless night to wash down the drain. 

She curled her hair with the idea of appearing presentable even if she did not feel it. While waiting for her rod to heat, she dug out a neat blue button-up and her favorite pair of jeans. Unlocking the gun safe in her closet, she removed her service weapon to take down for cleaning as she drank her coffee. 

Reentering the kitchen, she watched Calamity, whose tail twitched contentedly, napping in the rays of the rising sun as Nicole started her coffee maker. The pleasant hum filled the empty silence. Nicole fished a mug from her cupboard, bypassing the hand-painted cup Waverly had gifted her for their one month anniversary, and selecting one with the PSD logo over a simple black glaze. Nedley had joked it was part of her welcome package. Later, one of the other officers quickly humbled her by letting her know Nedley had over-ordered them for the Purgatory High School career fair and had boxes of them stashed away on the bottom shelves of the supply closet. Nicole treasured it all the same.

She was barely four sips into her coffee when a knock at the front door sent Calamity skittering into another room. She couldn’t help the spark of hope that shot through her, and she hurried to set down her cup and unlock the deadbolt. 

“Waves?” she said eagerly. The warped countenance of Mercedes Gardner stared back, a twisted grin on her lips. “God, your face.” 

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Mercedes snapped. Before Nicole could fully process her unanticipated guest, she was on the floor with the wind knocked out of her, while Mercedes babbled something about her lord and the law. 

It was too damn early for this.

Nicole crawled across the floor and reached for the closest item she considered a weapon, which happened to be the letter opener in her desk drawer, but Mercedes dragged her across the hardwood before she could grasp the knob. 

The pieces started to click into place. 

Mercedes had an interesting fashion sense, sure, Nicole thought, but the bustle and black veil were making a statement, even for her. That, combined with the marred face and something about a seal? Nicole came to the alarming conclusion that one of the widows must have possessed Mercedes. And, if that was the case, the other widow must have taken Beth Gardner’s likeness, which meant she could easily enter the BBD offices and wipe everyone out. Nicole’s heart skipped a beat.

Regardless of her relationship status, she needed to warn the team, even if that meant somehow taking down a supernatural dowager with a paralyzing venom and a penchant for lace. 

Two well-placed kicks to the ribs had Nicole struggling to inhale, the widow towering over her. Taking advantage of her opponent’s weakness, Not-Mercedes lunged for Nicole’s neck with a victorious screech. The tip of a metal claw grazed Nicole’s throat, and she used all of her strength to keep the talons at bay, jerking her hips to buck the widow off to little avail. 

Like a five-foot-four angel, haloed by the glow of the sunrise through the front door, Waverly Earp appeared wielding a staff. Sheer elation overrode Nicole’s paranoia about seeing her girlfriend again, and the widow Mercedes spun to see the interruption just as Waverly snapped her weapon in two.

She had never been sexier.

Only wondering distantly why her girlfriend had a staff, Nicole managed to limp away, struggling to her feet and cringing at each thump of wood on flesh. At the sound of her coffee table breaking, Nicole looked back to see Waverly just barely dodge the widow’s breath with a yelp. 

“Waverly!” Nicole exclaimed. Pushing the pain of her surely-bruised ribs aside, she bounded over her couch and locked her arms around Not-Mercedes’s neck, clinging to her back while Waverly ran for Nicole’s gun. 

Mind-splitting agony overwhelmed Nicole’s nerve endings. Her mind went blank. Blinding white consumed her vision, and she screamed, falling to the floor and clutching the new bite marks on her forearm. 

“You were telling the truth. You don’t have it,” widow Mercedes said, confused. “Well, this is awkward.” 

Waverly reappeared, holding Nicole’s service weapon, but the creature was gone. “Nicole!” Waverly cried. “Oh my god, okay, you’re gonna be okay, baby. Stay with me.” 

Warm blood pulsed through the cracks between Nicole’s fingers, and she heard Waverly dialing the phone through her haze. Velvet lips pressed frantic, reassuring kisses to Nicole’s temple, and Waverly’s weight warmed her back. Nicole tried to escape the embrace as a fresh wave of guilt engulfed her, but Waverly held her firm, and Nicole lacked the strength to fight her.

The last thing she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was a whisper of, “You’re okay, you’re okay,” and Waverly mumbling the address to the dispatcher.

Fluorescent lights greeted Nicole when she woke up in the back of an ambulance. A quiet whimper escaped her lips as the vehicle hit a bump, and she heard a sniff to her left. 

“Hey! Hey, baby,” Waverly cooed, swiping her sleeve across her face to hide her tears. She leaned closer from her perch on the built-in bench and took Nicole’s good hand between her own, flinching as Nicole winced at the action. She began to pull away, but Nicole held her steady.

“Stay,” Nicole pleaded hoarsely. Dried blood slowly crisped on the faux fur of her girlfriend’s jacket, scraping gently where it brushed Nicole’s skin. 

“Always,” Waverly said, “always.” 

When she woke next, Nicole writhed against thin cotton sheets, fists clenching around nothing as fire coursed through her veins. 

God, she hated hospitals.

In a state of confusion, she half-listened as a doctor explained that they wanted to medically induce a coma to slow the toxin’s track through her system until they could identify the poison. 

“Waverly,” Nicole gasped, “I want to see Waverly.” 

“Ma’am, I don’t know where your friend is, and we really don’t have time-”

“Not until I see her.”

The doctor gave her a hard stare. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, nodding at the nurse who stood watch at the door to go. 

Half of eternity passed before Wynonna stormed into the room, flashing her badge at anyone who dared think to send her away. Nicole couldn’t bring herself to debate the legality of it as another wave of pain forced a groan from her lips.

“Wynonna,” Nicole heaved, “Mercedes said, ‘the path leads to the law.’” A shudder wracked her body, and a sob tore from her throat. If she could do just one thing before she died, she had to make sure Wynonna could protect everyone, protect _Waverly_ , from the widows. Nicole begged for one last favor. “You’re the only one she’ll forgive.” 

The truth hung sadly in Wynonna’s eyes. “Okay,” she conceded, the confidence draining from her posture, “you have my word.”

Boots clicking on linoleum floors overpowered the steady beep of the heart monitor. “I’m here, I’m here,” Waverly said, sliding to a stop at the foot of Nicole’s bed. 

“Hey,” Nicole said, attempting to relax her anxious girlfriend. She smiled sadly. “Give Calamity Jane to Nedley, okay?” she said, the thought occurring to her in a flash of shame. At least she fed her cat one last time that morning. 

“I’m so sorry,” Waverly said softly.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Waverly, for everything,” said Nicole, skin glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration. She couldn't die without ensuring Waverly understood. “I made a huge mistake, and-”

“Forget about it,” Waverly placated, a hand on Nicole’s arm, “it doesn’t matter.”

Nicole shook her head. “It does matter, especially now,” she argued, gritting her teeth against the blaze in her lungs. 

“Nope. I’m gonna be here when you wake up,” Waverly deflected, “We’ll have a big ol’ Sorry Party, and I’ll make hats.”

The mental image of her girlfriend meticulously shaping hats out of construction paper at the dining table at the homestead earned a weak laugh from Nicole. Waverly’s palm rested gently on her jaw, fingers smoothing calming circles into damp skin. 

“But if I don’t, no matter what happens,” Nicole swallowed, pressing a kiss to Waverly’s wrist, “I need you to know that I have never loved anyone the way I love you.” 

Nicole sank into the pillows as the doctor returned with an injection. She maintained eye contact with Waverly until her vision grew fuzzy and her eyelids drooped. Her breathing slowed. Waverly stood protectively at her side, a beacon of light as Nicole slipped away.

Death felt a little like floating in the ocean, Nicole thought, the flow of the water and the movement of the waves a soothing rhythm, as the intimidating depth threatened to sink notions of consciousness into the caverns below. The pressure around her hand disrupted the serene lullaby, tugging her mind away from nothingness back into reality. She frowned. 

She twitched her fingers, testing the bounds of her cozy bubble. When the presence around her hand tightened, Nicole willed herself to focus. 

She was not dead. 

The pain had subsided. Why was she not in pain? Was she ever in pain? Her thoughts felt murky. The darkness behind her eyes solidified until she could pick out pinpricks of color.

“Nicole?” The sweetest voice Nicole ever heard was a faraway breeze. It tickled her nose as it blew past on its way to lands unknown. It carried with it the scent of a flower Nicole could not quite place. She wondered if anyone could truly identify a flower by its smell or if that was a marketing ploy by perfume companies. She snorted at the thought.

At the sound, the voice repeated, “Nicole?” A distinct combination of hope and worry leaked into the word that tugged at Nicole’s heart. 

No longer content to float, she forced her eyes to open halfway. The woman, for Nicole now knew the face of the breeze, inhaled sharply. 

“Nicole?” she said a third time. “Sweetie, can you hear me?”

“Mhm,” Nicole said drowsily. She opened her eyes fully to see her girlfriend curled in a faded blue chair. One of the wooden armrests seemed to dig uncomfortably into her hip. “Wa’erly?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes, baby, it’s me. I’m here,” Waverly said, choking back a sob. “You’re okay.” She pressed her forehead to the back of Nicole’s hand. “You’re okay.”

“‘m okay,” Nicole mumbled, reaching across the bed to stroke Waverly’s hair. “I’m fine, see? Good as new.” She wound a strand of brown hair through her fingers, noting the hardened sections where her blood had dried. She shuddered involuntarily. 

“God,” Waverly said dejectedly, sitting up, “you nearly died, and here you are trying to make me feel better.” She laughed wetly.

“But I’m not dead.” 

“No, you’re not,” Waverly agreed, surging forward to kiss Nicole’s chapped lips. Nicole was certain she tasted like salt water, but at that moment, she could not bring herself to care. When Waverly finally sat back, a pleased grin contrasting her tear-streaked cheeks, Nicole smiled toothily.

“Darlin’,” she drawled, “death hasn’t caught me yet, and I don’t plan on letting it any time soon.” Perhaps it was love that brought out her accent, perhaps it was pain medication. Regardless, it had an effect on Waverly, who scoffed.

“Our emergency room frequent flyer miles say otherwise,” she admonished. Despite her castigatory tone, she smiled fondly at where Nicole lay propped up in her hospital gown.

“D’you think we’ve earned a free smoothie yet?” 

Waverly rolled her eyes. “I must’ve left the punch card at home.” Nicole pouted playfully. “Tell you what, when we get out of here, I’ll buy you whatever smoothie you want.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Waverly said, leaning in for another kiss. 

+++  
one. caught.

Darkness had long since fallen over the homestead when Nicole jolted herself awake in the early hours of the morning. She rubbed her eyes and vigorously shook her head, trying to stifle her yawn. She repositioned herself in the Earps’ lumpy armchair. Any padding that used to exist under the sagging upholstery had disintegrated years ago. Her back ached, and her limbs dragged heavy with exhaustion. 

The standard clock on the mantle read 4:03 A.M. The quiet ticking of the second hand broke the silence of the night. Rachel was fast asleep in Wynonna’s bed, the curtains drawn. She had woken Nicole up for her watch shift two hours prior, passing off the shotgun and murmuring that she had nothing to report. 

Rachel offered to take the first night watch, arguing that she would be awake that late anyway. She liked to joke that taking the first shift meant she could make sure Nicole slept. Or, at least tried to. Nicole was sure the girl could hear the creaking of Waverly’s bedsprings overhead, while Nicole tossed and turned. 

She figured the teenager would prefer staying up late over waking up early if Nicole’s experience as a teen was any indication. Nicole enjoyed seeing the sunrise in any case. With each ray, hope leeched back into her chest to chase away the despair of the dark. She breathed a little easier in the morning.

Shotgun across her lap, Nicole stared out the front window of the homestead at the snow-covered landscape. Despite the cloud cover, the ground shone dimly. At the far edge of the property, tall conifers stood sentry, like great guardians of the forest and all within. The forest that had taken Waverly.

Nicole gripped the armrest, nails biting into the worn fabric. Her chest constricted, and she looked away. She would drive herself mad dwelling on what she could not change. 

Even with Wynonna’s fervent apologies for leaving Nicole unconscious on the kitchen floor, Nicole had to take a steadying breath to soothe the anger that burned white-hot. It was always followed by a rush of remorse.

_You’re a cop, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you check your drink? You could have saved her._

She last saw Wynonna ten weeks ago, when Wynonna threw herself through the backdoor to the Garden of Eden.

 _Not a euphemism,_ she could hear Wynonna say. Nicole snorted.

Every so often, she caught herself muttering jibes to an absent Wynonna, filling in the blanks at the end of her sentences with her best friend’s snark. It was comforting, laughing with no one about some terrible gay joke her inner monologue had conjured while setting out a bear trap. Even calling herself ‘Haught-shot’ in her own damn pep talks.

Each time, Nicole rolled her eyes and cast a wry smile in the liquor cabinet's direction. She uncovered the bottle Wynonna kept in the back for a special occasion months ago. When Wynonna returned, they would break the seal.

Assuming Wynonna returned at all. As the months passed with no sign of the Earps or Doc, doubt came crawling in, sneaking between cracks Nicole swore she patched long ago. 

She hoped Wynonna was alive. For her sake and Waverly’s. If Wynonna was with their girl, and Nicole had to believe she was, she would stop at nothing to bring her home. Earps did not quit. They were stubborn and hardheaded and whip-smart and fierce and passionate and-

The relatively new scar on Nicole’s leg twinged, and she rubbed it absentmindedly, blocking out the memory of the portal closing. Of being left behind with a sixteen-year-old girl, a broken leg, and zombies pounding at the door. While Wynonna got to play hero again, Nicole was left to clean up her mess. She tried not to feel bitter.

The distinct sound of metal clattering broke through the stillness, and Nicole jumped, her grip on her weapon tightening. She listened. Rachel’s breath came slow and sleep-laden in the other room. A quiet draft whistled through the homestead’s ancient pipes. 

A rustling came from the direction of the barn, and the beam of a flashlight flickered in and out of sight. The rusty barn door hinges creaked in protest, and someone grumbled something unintelligible. Nicole scanned the perimeter of the property and the dimly lit area of the barn for visible threats. 

Once she deemed it safe, she loaded a shell into the shotgun chamber and stood, slipping on one of the bulletproof vests she and Rachel kept in the kitchen. The weight was grounding. 

She opened the front door soundlessly and waited until she was confident the intruder was in the barn before resting the butt of her weapon on her shoulder and creeping across the property. As she approached, she could hear a man’s voice cursing. 

She stilled, listening for more than one possible threat. After a minute of a singular set of footsteps rustling over the hay, Nicole disengaged the safety. 

“Come out of the barn with your hands on your head,” she said, aiming at the door. The shuffling stopped. “You are trespassing on private property.” 

“The way I see it, so’re you,” the intruder sneered, his voice muffled by the walls.

“Come out with your hands on your head,” Nicole repeated in her best sheriff voice. “Or I will resort to force.”

“Well, that ain’t very cop-like,” the man said. He paused, then chuckled. “On second thought, it’s very cop-like if the news is anythin’ to go by. Then again, you ain’t a cop anymore.” The goading lilt risked pushing each of Nicole’s buttons, and she tamped down the urge to snap back at him. 

“You have ten seconds,” Nicole shouted, adjusting her gun.

“Alright, alright.” The footsteps grew louder as they approached the door. In a flash, the tip of a pistol poked through the crack in the door with a glint of silver. Before Nicole could register the movement, she was knocked back into the snow, shotgun skittering to the side as she gasped for breath and her left side throbbed. 

_Seriously? The fuck is up with me and rib damage?_

The intruder kicked the barn door open and bolted for the house. 

_Rachel._

Nicole fumbled beside her for her shotgun, head swimming, and pure adrenaline sent her scrambling to her feet as she tried to refocus her vision. The porch steps groaned under the man’s weight, and he reached for the doorknob. 

Nicole braced the shotgun against her good shoulder with only a single thought, engaged the pump, and fired. 

Her shot hit the wood next to the man’s head, catching him off guard. He jumped back but lost his footing and toppled down the stairs, landing with a sickening crack in the snow.

“Nicole?” Rachel called blearily, the sound muted. Nicole vaguely registered that the gunshots must have roused her, but Nicole’s attention only reached as far as the body crumpled at the foot of Waverly’s porch. 

Grimacing, Nicole approached shakily, wary of any sudden movements. 

“Nicole?” Rachel’s voice came again, louder and with a note of panic. 

“Stay inside,” Nicole commanded. She hovered a meter away, the barrel of her shotgun pointed at the man’s prone form. “Who are you, and what do you want with us?”

No response rose from the man who lay face-up in the drift. As she watched, a dark stain spread across the snow. Her stomach dropped. She reengaged the safety and rested the gun against the railing, stumbling forward to clutch the man’s jacket.

“Shit, shit,” she cursed, the dim porchlight finally giving her the first good glimpse of his face. 

“No. No, no, no.” He was a man she recognized. He had come into the station once, with another officer, near the beginning of her stay in Purgatory. He had been arrested on a drunk and disorderly charge. He was human. Not a demon or a revenant. An ordinary citizen.

One of the citizens she swore to protect.

And he was bleeding out.

“Come on, come on,” she rambled. The man’s eyes were wide and glassy. “Rachel, call for an ambulance!” 

Nicole faintly registered an “on it!” from inside the house.

“Sir, you’re gonna be fine, okay? You’re gonna be just fine.” She didn’t know if that was true. It would take at least twenty minutes for help to reach the homestead, and Nicole really didn’t know if her basic first aid training would help anything. 

_Step one: make sure the scene is safe._

A quick sweep confirmed what she knew.

 _Step two: check for responsiveness and external injury._

Head trauma by the looks of it. _He must have hit the railing on the way down,_ she thought. She vigorously tapped his shoulder but received no response. She found his wrist and checked for a pulse. 

No pulse. _Shit._ Nicole swept her hair from her eyes. She thought back to the mandatory seminar she attended. If the subject was unresponsive, she had to… perform CPR. _Okay,_ she thought, summoning the soothing cadence of her instructor, _stayin’ alive._

Lining up her hands, she gritted her teeth and began chest compressions. 

_One, two, three, four_ … Two breaths. Begin again. _One, two…_

Distantly, she felt Rachel tugging her away, but Nicole shrugged her off. 

“I can’t give up on him,” Nicole insisted, “I can’t-- he has to make it.”

“Nicole, you have to let the paramedics take over.”

“No, no, I have to do this.”

“Nicole.” People in fluorescent vests moved her out of the way as flashing lights reflected off the windows, bathing the world in red and blue. How much time had passed? Rachel grasped her upper arms, pulling her toward the barn. Nicole could not look away. Rachel adjusted her hold, and Nicole gasped as she put pressure on Nicole’s left side. Her wince did not go unnoticed.

“What-- oh my god, Nicole, were you shot?” Rachel spotted the distinct tear in the fabric of Nicole’s coat. “Jesus. Hey, she’s injured!” Rachel shouted, grabbing the attention of an EMT.

“‘M fine. I’m wearin’ the vest,” Nicole resisted, but her argument was cut off by a hiss of pain as Rachel forced her to sit on the back of the ambulance. 

“You’re the one who’s always telling me not to do anything stupid, and yet here you are. You could have broken ribs!”

“Not m’ first time bein’ shot,” Nicole said, her words sluggish. 

“That doesn’t make it better!”

The adrenaline was wearing off, and the reality of the night started to trickle in. A man with a bag of medical supplies introduced himself, and all Nicole could do was nod numbly as he asked to examine her. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as the paramedic removed her layers in the sobering chill. 

Someone else appeared at her right and spoke tensely. Nicole recognized him as one of the deputies she used to work with, Brennan, she thought, but her gaze did not waver from the cluster of EMTs laying out a swath of black vinyl nearby as a crime scene photographer snapped pictures of the area. 

“Haught, I need you to tell me what happened.” 

Nicole tore her eyes away from the gruesome scene and peered up at her old co-worker. 

“Holt’s got you on the night shift, huh?” She said dumbly. “How’d Mara take it?”

Brennan cracked a small smile at the mention of his wife. “Can’t say she’s a fan.” He cleared his throat. “Now, you mind telling me why I got called out to the Earps’ place at four-thirty in the morning?”

Nicole’s tongue grew leaden, and she licked her lips to alleviate the dryness in her mouth, trying to still her shaking hands. She switched into “cop mode,” as Waverly had dubbed it so long ago. Her tone grew serious and authoritative, recounting the night’s events succinctly and with as much detail as she could as Brennan jotted notes on his pad. 

She trailed off and choked back a sudden wave of nausea. 

“You good?” the EMT asked, rifling through his kit.

“Yeah. I just-- long night.” 

“Based on my preliminary exam, it looks like you were lucky. Your ribs seem bruised, not broken, but you’re going to need an x-ray to confirm. Officer, if you could kindly continue this later…” He gestured to the ambulance.

“I’m coming, too,” Rachel interjected. “Can’t trust this one to be alone. And they say teenagers are irresponsible.” She stared hard at Nicole, posture stiff. 

“If Miss Haught is alright with it, you can ride in the back with her.”

“I’m alright with it,” Nicole said immediately. One look at Rachel told her the girl was more afraid than she was letting on. She had been left alone at the Black Badge facility with zombies for company for six months, and now, a strange man had threatened her new home. She was understandably rattled. Nicole could not blame her for wanting to stick together. She couldn’t say she was fond of the idea of being separated either.

The medic nodded, zipping his bag, and crossed to the porch, where he spoke to a woman. She said something into her radio and turned back to her work. 

“I trust you to come by the station tomorrow to give your statement,” Brennan said, “I guess you know the procedure.”

Nicole hummed her assent as Brennan left to converse with the other officer.

“Another vehicle will be back to pick them up when the cops are done,” the EMT who treated Nicole said, helping her onto the stretcher in the back. Rachel took a seat on the bench, and the paramedic closed the doors. As they pulled away from the homestead, Nicole spared a glance through one of the windows. Through the darkness, she could just make out the outline of the corpse between the officers and the remaining EMTs. 

The corpse of the human man Nicole had killed.

He was neither a demon nor a revenant, not a vampire or a werewolf or a possessed beekeeper nor any of the other hundred supernatural threats Nicole had faced alongside the Earps. The man was armed and very well could have killed her had she not strapped on her vest before stepping into the cold. She was within her rights to claim self-defense. 

_He could have killed Rachel,_ Nicole rationalized. 

At the academy, they told her her sidearm was a last resort, and Nicole abided by the code she upheld when she wore her badge. She hoped never to have to harm one of her citizens. Until tonight, she had succeeded. 

_Baby, it wasn’t your fault. He slipped and fell. It was an accident._

Soothing words in Waverly’s voice came unbidden to Nicole’s mind. Deep down, Nicole knew this was true. But Waverly was not here, and the voice Nicole may never again hear only worsened the pain. How could she face Waverly, an honest-to-god angel, with red-stained hands and admit to causing a man’s death? If she ever saw her girlfriend again. 

She may not have been the final blow, but she fired the shot that caused him to fall. She could not save him. She failed him. Just as she failed Waverly. 

Nicole closed her eyes and held her hand out to Rachel, who looked up in surprise but gingerly took Nicole’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently. Nicole inhaled deeply. Comfortable silence blanketed the remainder of the trip. 

+++  
one. a welcoming.

Nicole, evidently, learned nothing from Disney movies.

 _A bit late now, though,_ she thought wryly, with a glance at the frog jar beside her. Jeremy dumped a bucketful of ice chips into the tub, sending water sloshing over the side. Nedley griped, leaping out of the way.

“My bad,” Jeremy said, his lips quirking apologetically.

Nicole shot him a sympathetic smile, skin pebbling at the chill. She dunked her head under and emerged with a gasp, ice sliding down her collarbone between her breasts. She fidgeted uncomfortably, fishing it out with an awkward glance at her former boss. The cotton of her tank top clung to her like a second skin.

Jeremy set down the bucket and busied himself by fiddling with a dry rag and the sticker on the back of one electrode. He stuck a nail under the tab, only to have it slip. He muttered to himself.

Nedley settled on a tri-footed stool, clad in a Hawaiian shirt and a wolf pelt, ancient tome between his hands, and Nicole wondered when this became her life. 

The answer came to her quickly enough, with a shake of her head and a bloom of warmth. 

The moment she decided to love the brightest star in the galaxy. 

Waverly, whose passion and strength cast a beautiful light that dissolved the most fearsome of shadows, who welcomed Nicole in tender arms, wrapping her tight to block out the worst of the chill. 

Waverly, who doused the fire in Nicole’s veins and stoked the fire in her chest. 

Waverly, for whom Nicole waited nearly nineteen dark months, who took her heart in precious hands and protected it against demons and curses and death itself. 

Waverly, for whom Nicole would die. 

The beeping of the heart monitor sped up in time with Nicole’s nerves, the ghastly conductor of a damning orchestra, the echo of handcuffs against the bed frame and the pleading cries of her girlfriend a terrible symphony. She hoped Waverly could forgive her. For what, though, Nicole could not be sure. 

For, after a year of pointless wishing, begging the swamp witch to please, _please_ do anything to get Waverly back? For the rough edges formed from fighting day after day for survival in a world with no stars? Or, for giving up hope, for failing to believe that they would be reunited. 

Perhaps all of the above. 

Nedley grumbled something about the Spice Girls, and Jeremy screwed the lid of the frog jar shut. The thin copper wire connecting her to an amphibian corpse felt heavier around Nicole’s wrist, and she had to wonder who discovered the human-to-frog transfer of consciousness. Regrettably, the topic had not come up in her freshman year biology class. 

Nicole swallowed thickly, knuckles white against the rim of the tub. The familiar odor of stale beer and cigar smoke hung in the air, mingling with the fresh scent of melting wax from the candles Jeremy lit. She tasted frog on her tongue. It was not pleasant.

“Hey…” she said.

“Hey,” said Jeremy, with a knowing expression and a nervous smile. He placed his hand over hers, warm and reassuring.

She thought of Waverly. She thought of Rachel and skunk milk and sawed-off shotguns, of bulletproof vests and metal claws and teeth marks and smoothie cards. She thought of music festivals and family long gone, of pancake breakfasts and found family and best friends and love.

She looked up at Jeremy, hoping her eyes did not betray her. Nicole took a shuddering breath. 

“No matter what happens, don’t let me come up until it’s done, okay?”

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this before 4.05 aired as an examination of Nicole's relationship with death, and it took me in a different direction than I anticipated. So, here we are. Many thanks for sticking it out with me.
> 
> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/way_haughtdamn) and [Tumblr](https://wayhaught-haughtdamn.tumblr.com).


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